


Hanged

by KTMason



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hanging, Reader Insert, sweet nice reader, trash king Murphy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 05:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5730565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KTMason/pseuds/KTMason
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reposted from my own tumblr.</p><p>Requested Imagine Murphy x Reader</p><p>You have always been kind to Murphy. You could see right through his gruff exterior, and it was easy for you to find kindness in your heart for him. Murphy doesn’t quite understand you. Tensions and feelings come to a head when Murphy is accused of murder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hanged

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Some of the happenings of episode 4 are changed, of course. This ended up super long. Also, I don’t have a Beta so… here you go.

Murphy sat in the middle of camp, carefully sharpening a scrap metal knife with a rock. You watched him from afar for a few moments, leaning against the makeshift wall before walking over to him with and taking a seat next to him on the fallen log everyone used as seating.

“Hey, Murphy,” you greeted cheerfully. “New knife?”

He let out a long sigh, perhaps bothered by the prospect of company, but answered civilly enough. “Yeah. Can’t find mine.”

You shrugged and leaned forward on your knees to get a better look at his face, smiling at him. He paused what he was doing for a second and looks at you, raising an eyebrow before shaking his head and returning to his work. He was used to your insatiable cheer, and it used to irk him but now he just rolled his eyes and did his best to ignore it.

“Did you need something?” he asked in a voice that sounded like he didn’t care either way.

You shrugged again but looked away. You’d been debating whether or not to talk to him about how you felt, and honestly, you still weren’t sure. On one hand, it could make things weird when he didn’t feel the same way, and then you would be embarrassed. On the other hand, however, what the hell have you got to lose? Any one of you could die at any point, as proven by your time on earth. “Fuck it,” you muttered under your breath and looked to Murphy again. Life had gotten too short to not tell some boy that you think the world of him.

“Actually, yeah, I wanted to talk to talk to you about something,” you said. No going back now. He made a questioning noise and continued his work. “Well, uh, I know maybe this is- maybe it’s not, I don’t know, I mean, I totally don’t expect- like, that’s not why I’m-” You put your hands over your face and groaned. Maybe you needed some time to work out the words, after all. You looked back up when you heard him chuckle, which faded when he saw your face.

He put the knife and stone down and turned to face you more, a little concerned, with that classic smirk of his plastered on his face. “Hey, c’mon. Where’s that smile, Sunshine?” he teased. “I didn’t think frowning was even possible for you.”

You chuckled at his usual teasing, giving him the reaction he was hoping for. He was always doing this sort of thing, teasing you and poking fun, but you knew it was just so you would smile, or pay attention to him. It was one of the things you liked about him so much. You saw so much in him, and wondered how no one else was constantly making eyes at him like you were.

“There you go…” Murphy whispered and winked at you. You’re sure he saw the blush that suddenly raced across your cheeks. Those light flirts of his always made you so happy. He quickly looked away and rubbed the back of his neck. Was he nervous? “I wanted to talk to you about something, too…” he started slowly.

As ecstatic as you were to hear whatever he had to say, you were both interrupted as Clarke stormed up to Murphy. He quickly stood up, wondering what she looked so angry about. She held up a knife. “Is this yours?” The rest of the conversation sounded heated but you quickly tuned out. These fights were so usual, they all felt the same. You quickly stood up and rejoined the conversation when Clarke yelled, “Murphy killed Wells!”

“What the hell!?” You and Murphy said in near unison. He looked to you, and you lightly shook your head, making sure he knew you didn’t believe these accusations.

Murphy turned back to Clarke. “I didn’t kill your boyfriend, Princess,” he said aggressively. A heated argument ensued that began to include the whole camp. Bellamy became involved, and before you knew it, you were in someone’s face, shoving them backwards as they sneered at Murphy.

“Back off!” you shouted, and got pushed to the side by someone else. Nearly everyone was yelling now, all furious about the murder that wasn’t even proven. After a moment, Clarke quieted us all down and we looked to her.

“Is this really the society we want?” she asked us. She said something about justice for crimes, but your head was still spinning. Why would they accuse Murphy? Sure he never got along with Wells but one does one knife in the woods prove anyway?

“I say we float him!” shouted one of the other kids. You turned to face him with a glare that could kill.

“Excuse me!? You can’t even prove he did anything!”

But you were drowned out by the sudden chanting. Your eyes went wide and you looked to Murphy. The people were shouting to float him. Execute him. Time suddenly moved too quickly, but your body too slowly as the scene before you played out.

Murphy started to walk toward someone, but he was tripped and eating dirt before he could say anything. You lurched forward to help, but a sea of bodies and a thick, strong hand prevented you from going anywhere. You could hear them beating him, kicking him as the laid on the ground, the sounds of Murphy yelling for them to stop. You tried to push your way through but it was impossible, so you resorted to screaming at everyone to stop. They didn’t. When the pulled Murphy to his feet and dragged him out of camp, his hands were bound behind his back and his mouth gagged with a seatbelt. He was beat, and as everyone rushed out to follow the crowd, they knocked him down a dirt hill. You made a bee-line for Bellamy and grabbed his shirt.

“He didn’t do anything, let him go!” you pleaded, with Clarke right next to you begging everyone not to do this.

They wrapped a wire around Murphy’s neck and threw the other end around a tree branch, hoisting him up to stand on a crate by the neck. Connor was holding a torch and chanting to the crowd, riling them up further. The boy turned to Bellamy with a wild look in his eyes and smiled.

“Bellamy… you should do it,” Connor suggested darkly. You and Clarke both looked to Bellamy in fear as the crowd started chanting his name. Murphy begged for mercy. You screamed for him to end this, but he shook his head and grabbed Clarke by the shoulders.

“You should have kept your mouth shut, Clarke!” he yelled before turning around kicking the crate out from underneath Murphy, letting him hang.

“No!” You fell to your knees and looked up at Murphy with wide, tearful eyes. He locked eyes with you for a second before they started to flutter shut, causing you to scream out his name again.

“He’s a monster!” someone shouted up at Murphy’s dangling body.

Then a little girl spoke up. You’d never met her officially, but knew her as Charlotte. She was 11, maybe even younger. She was crying. “He didn’t do it! I killed Wells!” Everyone turned toward her in shock, and an uneasy silence spread. It took everyone a second to fully process what she said, and a terrible sense of dread filled your bones.

Clarke jerked forward toward the rope, but you were faster, grabbing your knife and cutting the wire that help Murphy up. It seemed like everyone was still understand the situation by the time Murphy hit the ground with a thud.

You shoved two people aside, not caring about them as you rushed to Murphy. You couldn’t hear yourself scream his name over the rush of blood in your ears. In a heartbeat you were kneeling next to him and ripping the ties off his neck, then the gag. He coughed and sputtered, turning over to his side to croak out some blood and curse words. You ran your fingers through his hair and gently put a hand on his shoulder, making him flinch. You pulled your hand back and felt a new rage burning inside of you. How dare they do this? Whipping around to face Bellamy and the others, you screamed, “Now who’s the monster!?”

You didn’t bother waiting for a response before untying his hands and slinging Murphy’s arm over your shoulders and carefully wrapping him around you for support. You took as much of his weight as you could as he stumbled next to you, still gasping for breath. He kept his head down and his eyes fluttered as he regained full consciousness. He looked up weakly at you with a pained, confused expression. “Y/N?” he muttered.

You shushed him soothingly and ignored the parting crowd as you led him back to camp, into the dropship. You quickly found a pile of blankets and laid him down upon it. Never had you wished so badly that you’d helped Clarke with other patients. You may not be able to heal, or ease the pain, but you could at least clean his wounds and prevent anything from getting infected. From your kneeling position next to him after unwrapping his arm from you, you stood and quickly grabbed the bucket of water and rag Clarke kept in here for injuries, bringing it back over to Murphy.

Your boiling blood was finally starting to calm and you sat back down next to Murphy, taking a moment to look him over. He was beaten, bruised, and bloodied before they had even hanged him, and now it was worse. You let out a long shaky breath and wetted the rag. Murphy looked tired, but he kept his eyes trained on you, wary. You wished you could smile at him as you always did, or hear him poke fun at you, anything to make this situation better, but none of that happened. You broke eye contact with him and stroked the wet rag down the front of his chest where his shirt was ripped and blood had collected. You worked in near silence for a minute, with just the sound of his labored breathing accompanying you.

“Why help me?” Murphy croaked out, voice rough and damaged. You looked away from your work and put the rag down for a moment. His eyes were so full of pain, not just physical. You could tell he felt utterly betrayed. Alone. You shook your head.

“Save your voice, Murphy, you-” he cut you off by grabbing your hand. His eyes pleaded for an answer. You sighed and laced your fingers through his, causing him to jerk his gaze between you and your intertwined hands. “I care about you, Murphy,” you answered honestly.

He was quiet for a moment until he asked in a whisper, “How?” A tear rolled down his bloodied cheek. You’ve never seen him so vulnerable before and your heart feels like it’s breaking.

You give him a small smile, the only you could muster right now, and lean over to put your forehead against his. Your own tears fell onto his matted hair and down his nose as you cradled his head in your hands. “You deserve happiness, Murphy. I don’t believe you’re a monster.”

“I haven’t earned that,” he replied weakly. He closed his eyes to try and stop more tears and covered one of your hands with his own.

You shook your head and looked at the pained expression on his face. “It’s not about earning it, John.” You gently stroked your thumb across his cheek and pulled away just enough to look him in the eyes. The moment your eyes met was only a split second, because as soon as you pulled away, he pulled you back in and his lips were on yours. His lips were chapped and tasted of dirt and drying blood, but the innocence of it was powerful enough to overwhelm all of that. He was unsure, kissing you softly and silently begging for some kind of response, which you happily gave him. You kissed him back with the same sweetness and care you had always shown him. After a long moment of simply enjoying the new kiss, you moved to kiss his forehead and picked the wet rag back up. Now, you honestly did smile. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He nodded and kept a hold on your hand as you gently wiped away the dirt and blood on his face and chest. It was the end of a certain innocence in camp, but perhaps the start of something new for the two of you.


End file.
